


you can use me anytime

by 1000_directions



Series: aw bingo yes [7]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Netflix and Chill, Onion Rings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Clint gasps for air and gets a mouthful of Nat’s hair, and she’s laughing gently at him and pulling the strands from between his lips with a fond, smug look on her face, and he justLoves her.It was so much simpler when he didn’t.





	you can use me anytime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightwideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/gifts).



> happy birthday, adri!!!!!!!!!!! i had no idea what i was doing at any time during the creation of this, and i hope it turned out okay!!!!
> 
> thank you to my pals in the mcu bad decision buddies discord for sprinting with me, i would not have gotten this done without y'all.
> 
> square filled: pining

There’s a way Natasha’s face feels in his hands that Clint doesn’t think he’s ever going to stop being in awe of. Because he’s seen her work, and he knows she’s lethal and controlled, powerful and precise and inscrutable. But he’s also seen her like this, on her back in bed, blinking up at him, lips parted slightly, just a little bit out of breath as she rolls her hips up into his and shudders. And as he curls his fingers around her jaw, he can almost imagine that she saves this part of herself just for him.

Which is fucking stupid. He _knows_ her. They care about each other, of course, but he’s a stupid fucking idiot if he’s going to let himself believe for one minute that this is anything more than friends banging it out after a tense mission. That’s all it is now, and that’s all it’s been.

Even if she seems open and vulnerable, he knows there’s something more at play here, some parallel secret agenda that’s hers alone. This is _Nat_. She’s never gonna let anyone see all the way inside of her. Not even him.

He kisses behind her ear, mouthing over her pulse point, and he anchors his slippery index finger against her so that she can work herself off, the way she likes to. She’s never very dramatic when she comes, always subtle, always still somehow restrained, and it’s just a startled gasp and a few muscle twitches that give her away. It’s almost better, maybe. Sure, it would be great for his ego to have her screaming and thrashing, falling apart under his mouth, begging for it, greedy and loud and obvious. But he trusts it more this way. This feels real, like every tiny telltale sign was given grudgingly but honestly. He earned that. He made her come, and she couldn’t hide it no matter how badly she wanted to.

It’s easy for him to let go after that. She wraps a leg around his back and uses those brutal, magical fucking thighs to guide him deeper, and he groans as he grinds down into her. He wants it to last, but it never does, and he’s coming before he can even catch his breath. He gasps for air and gets a mouthful of her hair, and she’s laughing gently at him and pulling the strands from between his lips with a fond, smug look on her face, and he just

Loves her.

It was so much simpler when he didn’t.

Nat isn’t much for cuddling afterwards, but she’ll indulge him for a few minutes, and he takes what he can get. She feels so small in his arms, and it always shocks him. It’s stupid, he _knows_ she’s small but she seems so much bigger in motion, and it’s easy to forget that he towers over her physically when she dwarves him in so many other ways. But when he rolls onto his back and she curls up under his arm, she feels delicate. Fragile. Ephemeral. It’s the only time she ever really does. He runs his fingers through her hair, down the back of her neck, over her shoulders, and he feels her soft breath against his throat, feels the way her body expands into his with each inhalation, and he closes his eyes and makes himself slow down and appreciate the moment as it’s happening, because he knows it’s almost gone.

And too soon, she’s stretching her shoulders and cracking her neck and pushing herself back up to sitting with one careless hand to his sternum. She’s still wearing her bra and her boots, and he’s almost entirely dressed with his pants pushed down his thighs so she could get at his dick, and he wonders what it would be like to see her all the way naked. He’s seen enough of her to construct a mental visual, he’s got patchwork memories of all her different pieces, and it’s not about that anyway. But he thinks it would take a lot of trust for her to take off all her clothes and let him push into her with all of his skin touching all of her skin. It would take a lot for her to admit that all they were doing was sex for its own sake, not for stress relief, not out of boredom, not to burn off excess energy. He doesn’t think she’d let him see her that vulnerable, and he fucking craves it anyway.

“Seeya tomorrow?” she asks with a lazy smile, and he nods like an idiot and smiles back at her and tucks his dick back into his pants.

“You’re bringing the coffee, right?” He’s aiming for lighthearted, but he thinks he misses the mark a little, the way her smile gets a little sad. And goddamn but Clint isn’t used to missing the mark, and it stings.

“Coffee,” she says softly. “You got it.” It feels almost patronizing, and it’s unbearable.

Liho chooses that moment to jump onto the bed with an aggrieved _mrowl_. She’s even less tolerant of Clint overstaying his welcome than Nat is, and she grumpily paws at his ribs and butts her head into his chin until he sighs and gets up. He swears Nat has that cat trained. Either that or the cat has Nat trained. It’s an odd relationship that the two of them have, and he’s pretty sure the cat is actually smirking at him as she curls up in the warm spot Clint left behind and delicately begins to lick her paws.

“All right,” he grumbles. “I can take a hint, kitty.” His skin feels sticky, sweaty under his tactical gear. Next time, he’s gonna press his luck and try for shower sex. Nat might be into it. He can’t believe she’s even started letting him into her bed after so long fucking in the back of a van or against the closed door of an abandoned closet. Fucking in the shower would be much less intimate than doing it here, on the pillow and the sheets where she sleeps.

“ _Can_ you take a hint, Agent Barton?” Nat asks, and when she blinks at him and licks her lips, she looks positively feline.

*

The mission was a success, but the collateral damage was a little steeper than S.H.I.E.L.D. had planned for, which means they spend the next day in so many meetings that Clint can barely tell where his morning coffee ends and his afternoon coffee begins. It all blurs together, and they keep him and Nat separate for the initial debriefs, and Christ, he’s going to get fired sooner or later if he can’t stop thinking about her when he’s supposed to be thinking about work.

Finally, they release him for lunch, and he shuffles down to the cafeteria. It’s after three, so it’s not very crowded. Nat is at their usual table, off to one side so they each have their prefered vantage points and planned escape routes in case something goes sideways and they need to make a quick getaway.

Listen, it’s not paranoia when you’ve seen some of the shit they’ve seen.

“I got you onion rings,” she says when he sits down across from her.

“Honey mustard?” he asks, already shoving three into his mouth.

“Of course,” she says, grimacing. “Even though that’s gross.”

“ _You’re_ gross,” he says, and then he chokes on his food when she flips her eyelids inside out and rolls her tongue into a clover and shakes it menacingly at him. He’s never seen her do that before, and it’s horrifying and _awesome_.

“You don’t mind gross,” she says, delicately dipping a chicken tender into barbecue sauce and then smartly flicking it into her mouth the way he showed her.

“You’re both children,” Maria says, walking by their table with an empty tray. “Did you ever wonder why the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria has a kids menu when no kids are actually allowed on site?”

“I never question brilliant decision-making,” Clint says, brushing a stray piece of breading from his lips.

“Was it rough this morning?” Nat asks when Maria is out of earshot, and Clint shrugs.

“Boring, mostly. At least we’re getting paid, but I’d rather be shooting something.”

“Eat your onion rings,” she says with a quirk of her lips. “I bet I can get this wrapped up in the next few hours.”

“Why the hurry? Got somewhere to be? Hot date tonight?” Even as he’s saying the words, he knows he’s being jealous and weird, and he’s not being chill, and he knows she’s going to hate it, and he just...says the words anyway, like an idiot.

“No big plans,” she says, and it’s either an act of charity or an act of God that she lets him off the hook so easily. “I was thinking of a quiet night in. Maybe order a pizza, watch some Netflix.”

“ _You_ watch Netflix?”

“Everyone watches Netflix,” she says with a small frown, and yeah, of course they do, but she’s not everyone, she’s _Nat_. And he’s not sure what he thought she did to relax. Bang her coworkers and drink expensive vodka and clean her weapons? Of course she does shit like paint her toenails and water the plants she keeps all over her apartment. He knows she reads books. He knows she has a TV.

He just never sees that part of her.

“What are you watching on Netflix right now?”

“Korean interior design show.”

“Subtitles or dubbed?”

“It’s in English,” she says. “It’s very charming and vapid, and I like watching people practice a skill. It’s soothing and mindless.”

“I’m trying to picture you watching this show, and it’s not working.”

“Then why don’t you come on over after work and watch with me,” she suggests. “You bring the pizza, I’ve got beer. C’mon over.”

“For Netflix?” he clarifies.

“Sure,” she says with a smile he can’t read. “And maybe you can play with my kitty.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Are they even going to watch Netflix? Is this just an elaborate way to get him over for sex after a boring day at work?

“Not sure yet,” she says with a shrug, not quite meeting his eyes. “Let’s just start with pizza. Come by around seven?”

“I’ll be there,” he says, and his heart starts galloping. She’s never had him over just to hang out, and he doesn’t know what to expect.

Oh shit, he’s gonna have _onion ring_ breath.

*

Four hours and half a bottle of Listerine later, he’s jogging down the street with two pizzas under his arm because he doesn’t know if she wants something normal like pepperoni or something classy like white pizza with fancy veggies. He couldn’t decide, so he has both, and now he’s running late, and it’s stupid that he’s this nervous about something as dumb as _pizza_. This is Nat. He’s had lunch with her approximately a thousand times. He’s seen her live on peanut butter and jelly crackers for three weeks straight. He’s such a dumbass.

When he gets to her building, he sees Liho waiting on the stoop like some kind of miniature gargoyle, and it’s fucking creepy. If Nat ever actually lets him spend the night, there’s a better than average chance that this cat will try to kill him in his sleep.

Clint pushes the button for Nat’s unit, and she buzzes him up, and then there’s a fun game of “don’t drop the pizzas while you figure out how to open up a heavy-ass door one armed while a disgruntled cat winds around your ankles and tries to trip you like an _asshole_ ,” but he manages, and he’s only about ten minutes late by the time he’s standing in front of Nat’s door. He looks down at his arms full of pizza, and it’s honestly a miracle that he even made it this far without dropping one of them, so he sighs and uses his forehead to knock on the door.

The door opens immediately, and Clint stumbles forward a step before he catches his balance. Nat laughs softly and takes the pizza boxes from his arms, balancing them easily against her hip. Liho bolts inside to who-knows-where, and Clint scratches the back of his neck and tries to figure out whether or not he even wants this to be a date-thing or a friend-thing.

Nat’s wearing a light blue tank-top and soft grey sweatpants, and her damp hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she doesn’t seem to be wearing any make-up, and it’s the most revealing look at her that Clint thinks he’s ever had.

“You look nice,” he says, and he means it, but she scrunches up her nose at him anyway.

“Fuck off,” she says lightly. “Let’s see if I can find some plates.”

“Oh, _plates_? We’re eating _fancy_ tonight?” Clint teases as he follows her into the kitchen.

“A pizza box is not flatware,” she says patiently as she places the boxes on the counter and sets out two plates and glasses and napkins. “I don’t want you getting grease and sauce all over my couch.” She pauses for a moment, then shakes her head. “And I realize I probably just cursed you to immediately drop a piece of pizza facedown on my upholstery, but do your best.”

She loads up both their plates with pepperoni pizza, stealing an errant string of cheese from his plate against his protestations, and she looks at him devilishly as she licks the grease off her fingers, and he doesn’t even know how to be mad at her.

“C’mon,” she says, bumping her hip into his. “Do something useful with those big hands of yours and grab a six-pack from the fridge. I’ll save you a spot.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says uncertainly, because he doesn’t think he even minds so much, maybe even likes it a little. Nat thinks he has big hands? Is that good?

When he joins her in front of the TV, she’s sitting on one end of the couch with her knees pulled to her chest. Liho is sprawled across the armrest, and Nat’s scratching her under her chin. Some of the hair has come down from her ponytail, and it curls slightly behind her ears, and she looks just...normal. Like some normal woman at the end of a long day, eating pizza with her cat. Waiting for her show to start so she can unburden herself from the day. She doesn’t look like any kind of spy at all.

She could be just a normal girl waiting for her boyfriend to come home.

“Where do you want me?” he stammers, and she looks up at him, and her eyes are so clear and so big, and they focus on him so guilelessly.

“Sit next to me,” she says. “As long as you don’t mind Liho getting jealous.”

“Your cat hates me,” he says as he settles next to her, feeling the warmth of her arm against his side.

“She hates everyone,” Nat says fondly. “But maybe she’ll get used to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

Nat starts up the show, and they eat quietly for a while. She finishes first, and she puts her empty plate onto the coffee table, and it’s such a smooth transition for her head to wind up on his shoulder, and he doesn’t even breathe for a few seconds because he’s so afraid he’s going to shake her loose accidentally. Her hair smells _amazing_. They’ve fooled around so many times, and somehow this is the most intimate thing they’ve ever done.

So of course he ruins it by dropping his goddamn pizza. Not on the couch, luckily, but directly into his lap.

“I suppose that was inevitable,” she says with a sigh, sitting back up again. He has sauce all the way down his T-shirt and across his jeans. “Go on, eat it anyway. I know you want to, and I won’t judge you.”

“You’ll judge me a little,” he says, but he picks up the slice anyway and puts it back on the table for later. He looks down at his chest and the red swoops of sauce on his shirt. He’s pretty much guaranteed that Nat won’t want to cuddle anymore. Nice job, dumbass.

“That’s going to stain if you let it set,” she says.

“Probably,” he agrees. He’s lost count of how many of his favorite shirts he’s ruined in a similar fashion, but the approximate number is “all of them.”

“Come on then,” she says quietly. “Take it off and I’ll throw it in the laundry for you.”

“You sure? I don’t want to be a pest.” He’s heard her complain enough times about her ancient laundry machines to know that it can be a slow process, and he doesn’t want her feeling obligated to keep him around all night while his shit gets washed.

“I offered, didn’t I?”

“Guess so,” he says, and he only hesitates another minute before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it off over his head. “Pants, too?”

She sighs, and she looks right at him, and there’s something vulnerable and uncertain in her eyes as she says, “I’m not going to fuck you tonight, okay?”

“Okay? I’m not like, _trying…._ You _told_ me to take--”

“I know. Fuck. I _know_ , Clint. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What’s the right idea?” he asks her softly, and she exhales slowly through pursed lips.

“What do you think normal people do on dates?” she asks, focusing very intently on one of her fingernails. “How do other people just meet and...connect?”

“I dunno, babe,” he says, and there’s a fragility to her voice that has him choosing his words very, very carefully, because fragility and Clint Barton is often a lethal combination. “I don’t know if there’s ever a right way to do shit. And anyway, I’ve never really been normal.”

“If we worked together in...I don’t know, an office. Would you have asked me out?”

“We do work together in an office,” he says stupidly, because _what_? It almost sounds like…. Does Nat want to date him? Has she been waiting for him to ask her out?

“ _Clint_ ,” she says, and there’s a desperation to her voice he’s never heard before. “Don’t…. Please don’t humiliate me. Just do it or don’t.”

“Do you want to go out with me?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Okay.” Okay, so...what? _What_? Are he and Nat dating now? Is this a date?

“Would you please just take off your pants already and kiss me?”

And he doesn’t really have anything to say to that, so he nods like an idiot and unzips his jeans and pushes them down his thighs.

“I’m gonna throw this in the machine,” she says. “Wait here. You’ll...you’ll be here when I get back?”

“Of course,” he says. God, like he’s ever going to leave now.

She smiles nervously at him as she gathers up his clothing and leaves the room, and when she’s gone, he lets out a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling. The thing is, he’s spectacular at fucking things up, and this...whatever _this_ is…. Well, he just doesn’t want to ruin it before it even begins.

He sits back up. Liho is still perched on the arm of the couch, and her tail is twitching agitatedly as she stares down Clint.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here either,” he tells her, and she yawns at him and then elegantly leaps down from the couch and trots primly out of the room.

Clint takes a sip of beer, then another, and he’s just finishing the can when Nat walks back into the room.

“You’re still here,” she says.

“Course I am,” he says. “Said I would be.”

She walks over to him looking like an angel, and he’s just a dumbass standing here in his ratty boxers with beer breath, and he’s never done a thing in his life to deserve this, and he’s half-convinced it’s all some elaborate joke or hoax, or maybe this isn’t Nat at all, maybe she’s a spy or an imposter, maybe the real Nat is kidnapped and waiting for him to figure it out and rescue her, and--

“Can I have my kiss now?” she asks, and fuck, he’s never going to be used to this, is he? This softer, more vulnerable Nat who came out of nowhere.

“You can have anything,” he tells her truthfully.

“Do you want to spend the night?”

“Really?”

“I asked, didn’t I? Do you want to?”

“Sure.” She’s never, never asked him that, always rushed him out ten minutes after he came, and he’s not going to turn down the opportunity now that she’s finally offering.

“I’m not gonna fuck you.”

“You mentioned.”

“Just want to make sure,” she says softly. “I just want that out in the open so you don’t think that I’m leading you on. I’m gonna kiss you, but we’re not having sex.”

“That’s okay,” Clint says, and his heart is doing fucking cartwheels at the idea of just being over at her place without it being about fucking, just being together, she just wants to _be_ with him. “We don’t have to have sex. We don’t even have to kiss. You could hold my hand, and I’d be real happy just being here next to you.”

“Pick me up,” she breathes. “Jesus, Clint, just put your hands on me.”

“Okay,” he says, and his mouth is suddenly dry, and it’s such a mindfuck, trying to figure out this new dynamic with her. He places his hands on her hips and slowly, slowly curves them around to the back of her thighs. And when she leaps for him, he catches her easily. She’s barely anything at all in his arms, and he sees the latent dancer in the way she’s so graceful and poised. And he sees the hunger in her eyes and doesn’t know what that is or where it came from, but he’s just going to hold on for dear life and see where this takes him.

“You’re so strong,” she murmurs, and he barely has time to process the words before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him lightly. He groans and lets her gradually lick into his mouth, and she tastes like beer and pizza, and it’s just. It’s fucking perfect.

“Sorry if I...sorry,” he says with a wince as she slumps lower on his body, her ass grazing his half-hard cock. He knows he’s not getting laid tonight, but she’s so fucking sexy, and it’s just an automatic biological reaction.

“Don’t be sorry,” she murmurs, and her voice is so low and sultry that his aids are just picking up the edges of the sound she makes, and somehow that makes it even hotter. “Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Me neither.” She strokes her elegant fingertips along his jaw, and then she holds his chin in one hand as she kisses him again, purposeful and intent and focused. He yields to her so easily, always has, and she takes everything she wants from his willing mouth while he holds still and lets her.

After a few minutes, when his lips are starting to feel overworked and blissfully used, she pulls back, and her mouth is gentle on his cheek, on his throat. Clint tightens his arms around her and gasps for air, trying to catch his breath as she kisses him so sweet and so gentle over any part of his skin she likes.

“Do you want to do something else now?” she asks, punctuating her question with a lingering kiss to his collarbone.

“My understanding is that I’m here all night for a no-sex slumber party,” he says, tilting his head away from her, _Jesus_ , she’s good with her mouth. “Did you want to make popcorn and watch a movie? Give me a makeover? Talk about boys?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she says softly with a small frown, and he shifts her against him so he can support her with one arm, and he cups the back of her neck with his free hand.

“I’m not making fun of you,” he says seriously. “I’m just here to be with you. It’s not a joke.”

“Okay,” she says with an uncertain twist to her mouth.

“I’m dead fuckin’ serious,” he insists. “You wanna talk about boys? Listen, have you _seen_ the thighs on Bucky Barnes? If they ever get his brainwashing under control, I’d ride him off into the sunset like a metal rocking horse.”

“Shut up,” she says, but she’s smiling now. “My thighs are better than his.”

“Your thighs are my favorite,” he agrees. He starts to shuffle in a small circle with her held tight against his body, rocking her gently as he dances her around the room. “I’d worship those thighs. Devour them. I could live for three weeks on nothing but those thighs for sustenance.”

Her head falls forward, and she honest-to-God _giggles_ , and when she looks at him again, her cheeks are pink, and she’s so beautiful and light that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says softly.

“Part of the job,” she says awkwardly. “If you’re gonna be the honeypot, you have to look like honey.”

“You’re good at your job because you’re _good at your job_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve worked really, really fucking hard, and you’re terrifying, Nat. But you’re also real fucking pretty, darling. Do I tell you that enough? Do you know how beautiful I think you are?”

“I think so,” she says, pressing her thumb to his lower lip. “I think I’m starting to understand.”

*

They watch two more episodes of Nat’s show with her curled into his side and his arm casually slung around her, and he wonders if she can feel each one of his loud, quaking heartbeats the same way he can. It’s easy to be with her, but it’s exciting, too. This might be a thing they do now. This might be how they are from now on, and the thought of that is goddamn intoxicating.

Before long, she’s yawning, and her body is slumped into his lap, and he’s rubbing soothing fingers up and down her back, feeling out the subtle bumps of her vertebrae as he says, “I think you’re ready for bed, darling.”

She mumbles something incomprehensible into his shoulder, and he chuckles as he carefully scoops her up bridal-style and carries her into her bedroom. He places her into bed, making sure her pillows are appropriately fluffed, and he pulls the blankets up to her chin so that she’s tucked in nicely, and he presses a soft kiss to her flushed forehead.

“Night, Nat,” he murmurs, reaching a hand towards the light.

“Aren’t you staying?” she asks sleepily.

“Did you really still want me to?”

“Course,” she mutters. “Take out your ears and get under here, I’m gonna spoon your brains out.”

“That sounds disgusting,” he says, but he does as she asks, taking out his aids and leaving them on her bedside table. He crawls into bed next to her, stretching out to turn off the lamp, and then he sinks down into the warmth and quiet of her, closing his eyes as he feels her arms wrap around him from behind, feeling the softness of her lips as she presses one last kiss to the back of his neck.

He’s not always so good with having someone behind him, especially with his ears out, but he trusts her more than almost anyone.

*

It’s much, much later when he feels someone tentatively shaking his shoulder, startling him awake. His sleepy brain’s instinct is to attack, obviously, but there’s something soothing about the hand on his side that settles him for the split second it takes for him to remember that he’s in Nat’s bed, and he’s safe.

“What?” he mumbles, because...what?

He feels her reach across him to flick on the lamp, and he blinks at her, confused and tired.

 _Nightmare_ , she mouths to him, and he takes a moment to self-assess, and yes, his jaw is clenched uncomfortably, and he feels tense and tightly coiled. They’ve never fallen asleep together before. She’s never seen how he gets sometimes.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he says. “But thanks for waking me.”

She smiles crookedly at him, and he just loves her so much in that moment that he knows he can’t open his mouth, or he’s going to say something he can’t take back.

She says something he can’t follow with his sleep-fuzzy eyes, so he reaches for his aids and slips them back in.

“I said, I changed my mind,” she repeats.

“Whazzat mean? You want me to leave?”

“No.” She runs her warm hand over his bare torso, her thumb ruffling through his chest hair. “I want you to stay. And I want to have sex with you.”

“You said you didn’t.” If he was barely conscious before, now he’s so awake that he feels like he’s vibrating, and his dick is waking up, too.

“That was then,” she says, slipping her hand lower. “This is now. If you want to, that is.”

“Yeah,” he chokes out as she circles her fingers around his dick. “Yes, please. Sex, please.”

“Cool,” she says with a smirk, and he’s starting to get the feeling that at least some of this was a test, and he’s getting the impression that he passed.

She pulls a condom from the drawer and places it on the pillow by his head, and then she starts to slide a hand under the waistband of his boxers.

“Wait,” he says. “Wait, Nat.”

She freezes, and she bites her lip, and she looks chastened and nervous, and that’s not--

“I just.” He gives her hand a quick squeeze to reassure her. “Would it be okay…. Can I undress you?”

“Oh, is that all?” she asks, and there’s a bravado to her voice that doesn’t match the unbearable tenderness in her eyes. “Go ahead, babe. You can undress me.”

He pushes himself to a sitting position so they’re facing each other. Her hair is tousled, but it’s not artful and intentional, she just looks disheveled and undone, and he’s so in love with her that he’s choking on it. He rolls up the hem of her tank top, and she lifts her arms to help. She isn’t wearing a bra, and with her messy hair and her grey sweatpants and nothing else on but the adoring look on her face, she looks like a girlfriend. She looks like she should be his goddamn girlfriend already.

“Keep going,” she says gently, and he nods. She raises her hips so he can push down her sweatpants, and she kicks them off when they tangle around her ankles. She’s wearing plain black cotton panties and nothing else, and when he pushes those down her thighs, she’s finally naked.

And she’s perfect.

He takes a moment just to look at her, to find his new favorite places on her body now that he finally has a chance to take all of her in. And before long, she’s rolling the condom onto him and laying down on her back, hair spread out on the pillow like a crooked halo. And she closes her eyes and holds his face in her hands, and her lips tremble as she kisses him so, so sweetly.

And then he’s pushing into her, slow and deep, and she gasps and wraps her legs around him immediately, holding him deep inside of her. And she leaves her hands on his face the whole time, feeling out all the shapes he makes as he groans and grunts and bites his lip and whispers nonsense at her, because. Because _shit, Nat. Do you have any idea how good you feel? Do you? Do you, darling?_

She isn’t quiet when she comes. She’s a crescendo, starting out soft and innocuous, and by the end, she’s practically singing at the top of her lungs, and he presses his mouth to hers and swallows down her song, licks out his complicated emotions against her teeth.

“You’re gonna stay, right?” she says afterwards, fingers slipping on the sweat of his face, eyes big and frantic. They’re panting against each other, and she seems so small that he’s worried he might crush her. “You’re staying?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises her.

“I’ll go start the shower,” she says, not breaking eye contact for even a moment. “And you’ll shower with me, and then you’ll come back to bed, and you’ll stay?”

“I’m staying,” he whispers. He kisses her, soft and chaste, rubbing his lips over hers like a caress. “I’m not leaving.”

“Okay,” she says. She kisses him back a little more fiercely, curling her fingers in the damp hair at the back of his neck. When she pulls back, she seems more settled, more sure. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She slides out of bed, and her body is fucking poetry as she crosses the room and disappears into the bathroom. A minute later, he hears the shower start running, and he sighs contentedly. The water will feel good on his muscles. Nat’s careful hands will feel good on his muscles.

Clint feels spent, happy, and at peace. Is this what it feels like to get what you want? He’s never really been settled enough to know before.

He senses a gentle dip in the bed, and he turns his head to see that Liho has joined him. She regards him suspiciously.

“Get used to me,” he tells her. “I told Nat I’m not leaving.”

The cat blinks at him, and then she curls up against his side and licks his forearm with her sandpapery little tongue. Clint tentatively scratches her under the chin, the way he’s seen Nat do before, and a few minutes later, she’s purring.

“Me too, kitty,” he tells her. “Me fuckin’ too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/184751605244/title-you-can-use-me-anytime-link-ao3-square)


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